For two hundred years they had dug out the treacle.
The rich golden syrup was drained from the land.
'til the village foundations, like rotten teeth, weakened
And they crumbled away like castles of sand.

Under the ground there were great holes and caverns
Where the treacle once was 'til they took it away.
Like the blood from a vein it was drained out and syphoned off
And sold to the man who was willing to pay.

In all the houses there were women and children.
Most of them wishing they could be with their men.
When a roaring and a rumbling rose up from the deep earth
And their wishes were granted, right there and then.

The ground opened wide like the mouth of a monster
And swallowed the town like a spoonful of food.
Nobody survived to remember that morning.
They were buried alive when Tamberton died.

More than a hundred and twenty good families
Sunk down in the ground and were lost with no sign.
Now they're stuck in the syrup like insects in amber
'til the price of the treacle makes it worth while to mine.

Then they'll dig up the treacle ore filled with dead bodies
And they'll smelt it all down 'til the syrup runs free.
Then they'll put all the bodies in a hole in the graveyard
Where they'll all stick together for eternity.

The ground opened wide like the mouth of a monster
And swallowed the town like a spoonful of food.
Nobody survived to remember that morning.
They were buried alive when Tamberton died.